


the dark planet

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Vampire planet, mild gay, that's all I'm gonna say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 05:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10870509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: Obi-Wan and Anakin land on a strange planet whose inhabitants threaten not only their lives but their very humanity.





	the dark planet

**Author's Note:**

> this took me months to write and yet somehow is still like this? anyway, i hope u guys like freaky vampires and gay crushes. as always, this was written just for you.
> 
> thanks

A crash surrounds Anakin in a wreath of fire, broken metal and destruction. Emotion crowds his face— all colors of fear and joy. Nothing brightens Anakin more than flying even if they’re crashing down. In this tiny moment, this single taste, Obi-Wan watches him with the peace of not being watched back. Here is the whole of Anakin—laid out just for him.

“Hold on,” Anakin says. “I’m gonna try and land her easy.”

“Oh good,” Obi-Wan says. “Because doing things easy is your strong point.”

Lights flash in panicked screams of red, yellow and orange. Outside the planet grows larger and larger, close enough that Obi-Wan feels a ripple of unease through the Force. But that ripple could be coming from the blaze of their ship. In the fight of everything, Obi-Wan can’t help but remember the terrible reason for their situation. A mission went wrong, a few droids aiming right for once and now their life hung on a weak string. Never again would he listen to Master Yoda when he told them to make a simple infiltration of a Separatist ship.

Like a sleep twitch, Obi-Wan’s heart leaps when Anakin jams the controls down. Clouds split around the ship in soft purple tears. Anakin’s tongue peeks out from the corner of his mouth and provides an unwelcome distraction. The sight fizzes at the edge of Obi-Wan’s perception in an annoying, visceral way. Anakin’s senses tumble along with the ship and have no grounding. Obi-Wan reaches out into the Force to steady the both of them.

“Still with me?” Anakin grins at him, eyes shocked with blue. His curls, stuck to his cheeks, are wet and dark. They cut out crescent moons from his skin.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says. Sweat collects at the back of his neck. No need to stare any longer at the curves of Anakin’s hair.

“Good. Because we’re about to crash.”

“Great. My final moments spent in a dying ship with Anakin Skywalker.”

“Hm.” Hurt covers Anakin like fog over a lake. “Could be worse.”

“How?”

“You could be on a dying ship without Anakin Skywalker.”

“Good point.”

In one last hurdle, their ship hits the ground and slides, angry, down a flat landscape. They skid to a halt in front of tall, twisted tree. In an instant, Anakin’s hand flies to catch Obi-Wan by the chest. A small whiff of mutual concern surrounds them both.

“Are you okay?” Anakin’s mouth goes tight around the question. Obi-Wan nods before asking the same.

“I’m fine,” Anakin says. “But the ship? She might need a closer look.”

Once they step out onto the planet a fragrant heat comes from the Force— a malicious warmth. Suspicious, Obi-Wan opens his mouth but is cut off by a long sigh.

“She’s pretty beat up.” Anakin runs a gentle hand over the ship’s hull. “But the damage’s mostly cosmetic. I can fix her up by daylight, or whenever daylight comes on this planet.”

Between them, Obi-Wan sends a question and Anakin’s head perks up. A look over his shoulder tells Obi-Wan that Anakin senses the same unease.

“It just means I’ve got to work fast,” he says. “Sit down. Take a rest. Me and the ship need to get acquainted.”

 Taking the hint, Obi-Wan leans against the tree and watches as Anakin goes back to the ship. Alone, he rubs along the ridges of the Force that surrounds the planet. Something stings in the way the Force moves here as though all the parts of it hurt. The feeling is too much— an overload of tension. Instead, he focuses on Anakin, now back with his tools. There’s a sweetness to Anakin when he works, a playfulness that comes out in rarer and rarer occasions the longer the war goes on.

Smooth as a stone passed over by water a hundred times over, Obi-Wan touches the connection between them. A hand reaching out through the Force grips him without ever touching. There’s such an ease between them that Obi-Wan can’t get over. He’s never felt such affinity for another human like the kind he feels in the Force with Anakin. Not even Qui-Gon engendered the same response and Obi-Wan knows this feeling shouldn’t be trusted. Still, he lets himself glide alongside the pitter patter of Anakin working without any more troublesome thoughts.

Night falls sooner than he expects. Above them, the sky weaves together in dark blues and two moons rise along the long pull of it.

“Are you done yet?” Obi-Wan asks. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. From under the ship, Anakin whistles his answer. With one eye open, Obi-Wan peeks at Anakin, who sits up with half a wire in one hand and a bright expression. Grease smudges the top of his cheek in such a way that Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. If he could pause Anakin forever in a moment of fresh workmanship, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“I’ve got the power rerouted back to the lights inside the ship so we’ll be safe to sleep in there. I want to get a little more of this wiring repaired before we turn in. Get comfortable, it’ll be a bit.”

Obi-Wan gets a couple of emergency lights from the ship and the sickly green-yellow illuminations make the planet’s dangerous air more noticeable. Tall grass waves in a tiny breeze gone ominous and the eerie sense Obi-Wan got before hangs like a wet rag over them. Everywhere he looks, something seems to move in the corner of his eye. In fact, he feels many somethings in the darkness of the planet, all pulsing with a terrible sort of energy. Yet those somethings are distant and Anakin is close and he can’t stop notes of affection infecting the connection between them. Those notes return tenfold from Anakin, who never met a feeling he couldn’t burst with. For a moment, Obi-Wan is stung by how childish that affection feels, how rough and uncut as a jewel dug fresh from the ground. There’s no filter to pass that feeling through, no way to make it easier to swallow.

“You’re not getting sentimental on me, are you, Master?”

“Certainly not.” Obi-Wan slips a gruff tone into his words. “Sentimentality is not the Jedi way.”

“Oh right, right,” Anakin says. “Because there’s no room for feeling in the Jedi way.”

“Anakin.”

A response writes itself into the line of Anakin’s lips but a rustle interrupts him. Faint as the sound is, it sends a rough vibration through the Force— something come awake. Obi-Wan, struck by a whistling tension, turns around to face the tall grass. All sound stops save for the raspy pulse of his and Anakin’s breathing.

“Do you feel that?” he asks.

“I feel a presence.” Anakin closes his eyes. “But there’s something else. The presence isn’t alone.”

Another soft crackle within the grass and the blades in front of them move. Behind him, Anakin’s back brushes against Obi-Wan’s. The feeling distracts, too warm and stable to go unnoticed. Attention diverted, Obi-Wan almost misses the slow peek of movement in front of him. Then, from the grass, a hand emerges.

Unable to look anywhere else, the rest of the world becomes static to Obi-Wan as an arm slowly comes out. It’s long and pale with skin sucked to the bone. On the end of each tapered finger are overgrown nails, yellowed at the base and sharpened at the tips. In small increments, an entire body reveals itself— a skeletal figure crawling on all four elongated limbs. Obi-Wan’s hand goes to his lightsaber as the creature opens its mouth. Two fangs jut out and shine pearl-like under the full moon. Obi-Wan takes a step back and his leg touches Anakin’s.

From the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan sees another hand reaches out of the grass. This one carries the same long fingers, the same ash white skin. Soon three stand before them with a hair’s length between Obi-Wan’s boots and their yellowed nails. A moment passes— sharp and silent— before the first creature pounces on him.

Twin blue flares ignite as both Anakin and Obi-Wan swing their lightsabers up in an arc toward their attackers. Obi-Wan catches one creature on the shoulder and another on the chest. Gnashing their teeth, the creatures continue, unmoved by their wounds. In unison, he and Anakin step toward the ship with backs still turned to each other. A claw scrapes Obi-Wan’s face and the wound stings. Hot pain sparks where he’s struck but Obi-Wan can’t slow down. The creatures move fast, faster than he’d expected. When his hits land, there’s a peek of pink flesh before the wounds seal up.

“They heal fast,” he yells. Behind him, Anakin moans and just for a second, Obi-Wan’s head jerks back. There’s a cut on Anakin’s shoulder the size of a teacup. Blood wells up and anxiety rises in Obi-Wan’s stomach. His distraction is enough that a creature leaps on him, knocking him to the ground. Neck burning, Obi-Wan feels the snap of skin breaking beneath sharp fangs and a peculiar suck which dizzies him. Two rough hands hold down his shoulders as blood rushes from his body into the creature’s mouth. Yet another sense begins to leave him— the Force. A sickening sweet taste reaches the back of his throat. He hardly knows what happens as the fangs rip from his neck and his feet drag across the ground. With blurred vision, he sees the scamper of those long white limbs come toward him in quick jabs. Soon the dirt is no longer beneath him. Instead, there’s smooth metal and the sound of Anakin’s panicked breath as the ship’s bay door whines closed. Outside dull thuds against the ship smack against his senses. Belligerent anger winds through his thinning connection to the Force. The anger doesn’t come from the creatures. It comes from Anakin.

“Anakin,” he says and puts a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. Even through his robes, he’s hot to the touch.

“How bad is it?” Anakin doesn’t move beneath Obi-Wan’s hand. He is still, mired deep within a rattle storm of emotion. A tiny pulse of blood continues to soak the collar of Obi-Wan’s robes. With his other hand, he touches the two wounds and his fingers come back tacky. Dizziness returns.

“I—,” Obi-Wan starts but trails off. His head lolls to the side and his hand slips from Anakin’s shoulder. A string of panic interrupts the anger in Anakin. Warm palms stretch to cradle Obi-Wan’s face and Anakin rests his forehead against him. There’s a whisper— a soft song— said into the thin skin there.

“Wait here,” Anakin says. “I’m going to get the med kit.”

Anakin leaves behind silence, both in the air and in the Force, and Obi-Wan resists the urge to touch his neck again. A rushing sensation sluices through his system from the small teeth marks but he can’t name the feeling. It stings; that’s all he knows. When Anakin returns, Obi-Wan tries to smile but the corners of his mouth protest at his attempts.

“You look terrible,” Anakin says.

“Thank you for your honesty.” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here for me in this trying time.”

“I mean it.” Anakin kneels in front of him with the med kit in his lap. “You’re growing pale.”

“Blood loss,” Obi-Wan says. His attention splits with half of him focused on the sharp pain from his wound. The other half dedicates itself to analyzing the warmth of Anakin’s hand against his neck. There’s an absent-minded care to the way Anakin wipes the blood away and then applies a bacta patch. Obi-Wan hisses at the chilly sensation and Anakin clicks his tongue. He gives a slight push to where his hand holds the bacta patch down.

“Be a good patient.”

“Be a good doctor,” Obi-Wan sniffs and reaches for the patch without thinking. A second of touch crosses between Anakin and him as their hands cover each other. Obi-Wan takes his hand away and avoids Anakin’s gaze. In a huff, Anakin gives the patch another press before dropping back on his ass. He folds his legs across each other and looks toward the closed bay door,

“Those things are still out there,” he says. “I can sense them. One of them is hurt.”

“That makes two of us then,” Obi-Wan says.

“I don’t think it’s a fair comparison.” Anakin makes a mock introspective expression. “I did chop off one of their arms. You just got a scratch.”

“A scratch?” Outrage winds around Obi-Wan’s reply. “I’ll have you know that I was _bitten._ ”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Getting bitten is the _exact same_ as having a limb chopped off.”

“That’s not fair,” Obi-Wan says. “Those things have accelerated healing and I don’t.”

“Whatever.” Anakin waves his hand like he’s brushing away Obi-Wan’s complaints. Arms folded across his chest, Obi-Wan knows he looks petulant but can’t help the feeling. His neck still smarts and his head grows dizzier.

“We should get some sleep,” he says. “Before anything comes back to find us. Then, we can formulate a plan.”

“Agreed,” Anakin says and Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. Scoffing, Anakin looks away. “What? I can’t agree with you now?”

“I never said anything to that effect,” Obi-Wan says.

To the right side of the ship is a room set up with a cot big enough for a single human. There’s a scuffle over who will sleep first but the discussion is over before it begins. While Obi-Wan gets comfortable on the bed, Anakin sits back against the cot. His hand presses to his lightsaber. Curious, Obi-Wan pulls the bacta patch away to check the bite marks— shiny and scabbing over.

Sleep doesn’t come in quick strokes but rather like a pen drawing a long line across Obi-Wan’s consciousness. He follows the line in a slow drift until his eyes close completely and a dream swallow him.

…

_There’s grass— tall, inescapable grass. Around him are the wrecked remains of a star cruiser and the limbs of his friends. Grief holds him still amidst the ruin and he passes his hand through the hair of a woman’s severed head— his wife. But he doesn’t remain at the crash for longer than he needs to. Instead, he moves out into the landscape f this strange, dark planet which, for now, is his only home._

_The days are short here and the nights are cold. He passes the time by writing stories. Before the crash, he wrote for big holo-feeds about disruptions in the Senate, about heroes and villains in the Clone Wars. Now, he scratches down stories about the family he’s lost and the mysteries he’s yet to crack about the planet. At night, the breezes are cruel and he hears scuffling everywhere. There’s something in the grass._

_One morning, he goes to visit the crash site. As he approaches, sounds of teeth and bone gnash loudly and when he parts the blades of grass a set of shining black eyes look at him. In the creature’s hands is an arm, an arm that he knows is his wife’s. Screaming, he throws himself at the creature but regrets his action as the twisting limbs of the creature are stronger than he imagined. He wrestles with desperate hands but to no avail; the creature rips into his throat with greedy teeth. And when it finishes, the creature leaves his body where it bleeds._

_Hours pass before a strange gurgle rises in his belly. His body aches with growth, a terrible growth that widens his hunger and pulls at his limbs. Twitching, he reaches to claw at the wound on his neck only to find it healed and pulsing. Every bone in his body breaks and, as pain screams through him, his eyes roll back. A shudder raced through him and a thin, ugly moan echoes in the silence of the planet before—_

…

“Master!”

Obi-Wan jolts up, slick with sweat. Anakin’s agitated expression catches his eye and, wiping away the sweat, he attempts to relax his features.

“What?” he asks. “What’s going on?”

“In your sleep,” Anakin says, “you started to make some terrible noise like you were in pain. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says but a tumultuous current runs through him. In his mouth are the nightmarish leftovers of his dream. He touches his bacta patch and a ripple passes across the skin there. Nausea threatens to spill over in his head but, when faced with Anakin’s raised eyebrow, he continues to reassure him. “Truly. I’m completely fine. Just a difficult dream.”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me, Master,” Anakin says. “It really isn’t the Jedi way.”

Instead of responding, Obi-Wan rolls over and places his feet on the ground. His head rushes and his body bends forward from wooziness. Anakin catches him by the chest but just barely. Obi-Wan hums unhappily. The bite marks continue to throb, more alive than before. How long has it been since they made contact with the creatures? An hour? Maybe two? He can’t be sure and this not knowing develops traces of fear within Obi-Wan. He closes his eyes and breathes in long stretches. With the Force moving through him, he allows himself to center on his surroundings. The wheezing, half alive ship. The sharp taste of Anakin’s fear. The cool whisper of the wind from outside that beats against the ship’s walls.

He senses these things and more; yet something louder echoes in his mind. A call between two beings scuttled outside the ship, their voices like an instrument plucked out of tune. Obi-Wan hears their atonal discussion and understands. They’re planning— scanning the ship to try and see its weak points. Needle-like, they crawl through his mind just as he slips into theirs’. A ripple vibrates through the Force that makes him wince. In that ripple is one thing— hunger.

“What’s going on, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asks.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. The truth stings his tongue.

“You feel different,” Anakin says. His mouth is compacted by worry and another emotion Obi-Wan doesn’t want to address. Should he call it by its name, that affect threatens to grow into personhood and insinuate itself further into the Force that surrounds them. Obi-Wan reaches out and claps his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. He presses his thumb to the bone there in what he hopes is a comforting gesture and, despite a voice screaming in his head not to, he rubs a circle there. Touch implies a level of intimacy he’s not sure he wants— a certain familiarity which surpasses what he’s comfortable expressing. Yet he continues to touch Anakin in the face of his concerns; he can’t help but allow himself these indulgences.

“Mm. Perhaps I’m less fine than I previously thought.”

“Yeah,” Anakin says. “Perhaps.”

“Do you feel them?” Obi-Wan asks. “Can you hear them?”

“I only feel a sort of upset.” Anakin scratches the side of his face and casts his eyes away from Obi-Wan. He stares at his lap and holds his hands there, palms up. His voice is quiet as he speaks. “But it’s coming from you. What aren’t you telling me, Master?”

Taking his hand back, Obi-Wan tightens it into a fist and holds his hand to his side. The noise of the creatures still beats through his mind, distracting him from answering. One of them twitters about an opening and the other one responds excitedly. Cold shock runs through Obi-Wan and a spike of pain pops in his joints.

“Anakin—,” he starts but is cut off by a rattle somewhere in the ship. Anakin looks over his shoulder sharply and draws his lightsaber. The rattle gets louder. Then, for a moment, nothing makes a sound. There’s only Obi-Wan’s labored breath as he stands up, arms and legs protesting the entire way.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “Did you close the hatch where you were working?”

“No, I—,” Anakin stops with a grimace. “No, I didn’t.”

They both look at each other with silence between them. Obi-Wan turns his thoughts blank, thinks of nothing but static. Although the rattle has ceased, the creatures haven’t stopped chattering and they poke around his mind trying to find some idea of where he and Anakin are. When he feels them attempt to look around, the creatures bump against the interior of the ships undercarriage with stunted senses.

“They’re inside, aren’t they?” Anakin peers around the room. He lands on Obi-Wan, scrutinizing him. “Can _you_ feel them?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “I can sense them beneath us. They’re trying to discern our location from my thoughts.”

“Where are they?”

Obi-Wan looks to the floor.

“Under the room?” Obi-Wan shakes his head and points out to the hallway. Anakin peers around the door frame and takes a step outside. Keeping up the quiet in his head takes less effort than Obi-Wan anticipated yet he struggles to contain his thoughts completely. They stray toward Anakin, as they often do, and his motions. Together, they hold a thin strand of the Force like a thread tied around each other’s pinkies. Slight tremors echo through the thread as Obi-Wan watches Anakin. His body is rigid, either from fear or anger Obi-Wan cannot tell, but his grip on his lightsaber is loose— ready to swing at a moment’s notice. Another rush of pain goes through Obi-Wan’s arms and he groans loud enough to make Anakin look back. His eyes widen.

“Obi-Wan,” he says in a soft, trembling voice. “Your arm.”

Obi-Wan glances down and sees that his arms have gone pure white. They’ve dried, cracking like wood burned too long, and look thin, almost bony. When he tries to move them, his arms swing in ugly arcs as they rapidly grow gnarled. His concentration breaks as he watches his body shift and that small crack is enough for the creature’s prying fingers. He feels them devour all the information he’s been hiding and scuttling sounds fill the ship from every which way. Anakin ignites his lightsaber and stabs at the floor, hair dancing wildly as he does. Obi-Wan searches the Force, trying to place the creatures, but they move too rapidly for him to tell. The clatter grows louder and more random as Anakin, breathing hard, stops to look back at Obi-Wan.

“I can’t feel them,” he says. “They could be anywhere.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s like they aren’t alive. There are only traces of them in the Force.”

He can sense them, although not through the Force. Their chatter remains only in his mind and reflects base feelings of hunger and anger. He reaches for his lightsaber and fumbles with contorted fingers. They curl around the hilt with fluid strangeness. Anakin stares and shame flushes through Obi-Wan.

Without warning, a pop sounds and a creatures head pokes out from the floor. Its gnashing teeth are yellow blurs and its shining black eyes glare hatefully toward Anakin. Rage fills Anakin’s face as he runs at the creature but it swings an elongated arm out, catching him by his leg and dragging him down. He loses his grip on his lightsaber and tumbles to the floor, clawing at the holes he made in the metal. A hideous delight radiates from the creature as it begins to slither out with one arm shorter than the other. It tightens its hold on Anakin’s ankle and a flash of fear shoots across Anakin’s face.

Inside Obi-Wan’s body is a hollowness that grows as the rest of him seems to wither into a new, terrible form. His thoughts have started to shut down and all that remains is emotion— clear, vivid emotions. Anger, bottled and shaken, bubbles within him—for the creature and for the harm it has done. It doesn't notice him as he runs toward it until he brings his lightsaber down upon its wrist. Then it screams a crackle of lighting in his heart as thin white blood trickles out from its wound. The detached hand twitches around Anakin’s ankle until it goes still. The creature smashes its blunted arm in a tantrum and fixes its sights on Obi-Wan. He stumbles backward but holds his lightsaber at the ready.

A horrific smile slides onto the creature’s mouth and before Obi-Wan can attack, a long clawed hand catches him by the waist and tosses him into a wall. His ribs ache immediately and a pounding takes up house in his head. Dizzily, he watches the two creatures descend upon Anakin, who has retrieved his lightsaber. Blue slices of light are all the Obi-Wan comprehends in the sea of pain he’s in. He doesn’t need to look to know that the shift of his body has begun to accelerate. Tearing fabric tells him his legs are growing; an intolerable sting in his gums signals his teeth sharpening. In the distance are the creatures’ squeals of pain and small hope flares in Obi-Wan. Perhaps Anakin is winning.

He struggles to his feet and, with dwindling strength, heaves himself forward. Anakin doesn’t stop his assault on the creatures. They skitter around on the walls, nails scraping against the metal. One of the creatures leaps onto Anakin. Viscid spit dribbles down from its open maw and slops on Anakin’s cheek. Obi-Wan moves toward them but the other creature blocks his path.

Bones turning beneath his skin in primal agony, Obi-Wan lifts his lightsaber and brings it down hard across the creature’s chest. A long, jagged slash opens on its ashen skin and the creature roars, raising itself up and slamming Obi-Wan to the side. He stumbles but holds himself steady. His lightsaber slips from his fingers and he charges the creature again. They wrestle to the ground, Obi-Wan near blind with pain but fueled by a burgeoning violence. In the distance, a noise of Anakin beating back his own creature reaches Obi-Wan but fails to penetrate his senses. They’re blunted by the need to destroy what’s in front of him.

He pins the creature down. It squirms, emancipated body rubbing its bony self under Obi-Wan’s hands. The feeling is horrendous but pleasing in a brutal sort of way. Without thought, without reason, he lets his head fall against the creature’s throat and buries his razor sharp teeth into the skin there. Biting down is easy; he does this as though it’s his birthright. In one long pull, he tears open the creature until a galaxy of blood flows from it. The skin there doesn’t close up, doesn’t heal. It only lies flayed open.

The creature jerks around on the floor. Its body swells into a different shape, one that curves and flushes with color and, in shallow shades, the creature’s body turns from a sharp-toothed skeleton back into a fleshy human. Obi-Wan strokes a finger down its face— a face he recognizes from his dream. Turning back to Anakin, his voice chokes before he can speak.

“The throat,” he yells. “Aim for the throat!”

Nodding, Anakin struggles to lift his lightsaber level with the creature’s neck. He stabs it through, slicing upward until the blade cuts out the other side. Still alive, the creature continues to bite at Anakin with its head lolling forward. Anakin shoves the creature off and rolls away as it stands to its feet. Behind it, Obi-Wan reaches and rips the front of the creature’s throat. Garbled cries echo through the ship as the creature falls to the floor and the shine of its black eyes goes dull. The darkness that once covered them begins to retreat until pale green irises are visible and it too returns to a human shape. Obi-Wan falls to his knees and presses two fingers to the human’s eyelids, dragging them closed. A long, steady sigh escapes him as a low hum starts to blot out his mind. He recognizes little but knows the face that hovers above his. Anakin.

Hands tucked in on both sides of his face, Anakin’s cheeks are glossed over with tears. How long has he been crying?

“Obi-Wan,” he says. “I can fix this. I will fix this. I won’t let you turn into one of those, those things.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan shutters and his chest begins to shrink. His head is pounding. “Anakin, there’s no use. It’s too late. You’ll have to leave me behind and get back to Coruscant. Please, it’s the only way.”

“Leave you behind? Never.” Lips press against his forehead as Obi-Wan hums through the pain. “I would rather die.”

“If you stay here, that’s exactly what will happen,” Obi-Wan says. “Go. People need you.”

“People need you too.” Anakin’s speech blurs from crying. “I need you.”

If he were whole, if he weren’t changing into something less than human, those words would’ve sparked a great fire inside Obi-Wan. That he should be hurting Anakin like this twists a hurricane instead. There’s been a growth inside him, a ponderous and quiet growth, unlike the one that currently split his limbs. A poisonous growth took hold of his innards and shook him every day demanding to be let out. But he couldn’t, not at those times. To let that growth be cultivated, to give it sustenance beyond what it took from him, would’ve destroyed his commitment to the Jedi Order. But here, in this broken ship with his broken body, Obi-Wan let that growth spill out of him.

“Anakin,” he says. “I love you.”

The lips on his forehead stutter and fall downward until they meet his mouth in a kiss. It’s chaste, only surface level until Obi-Wan slips his tongue through Anakin’s parted lips. Then, he tastes the solid, earthen flavor of spit and presses closer. From Anakin, he pulls small huffs that ring perfectly in his ear. He opens his mouth wider and one of his teeth scrapes the soft skin of Anakin’s lip. With a start, he pulls back with a hand to his face. His fingers come away bloody.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says.

“No, no,” Anakin says. “It’s fine. _I’m_ fine.

“You need to go.” An echo starts to reverberate through Obi-Wan’s skull. “Now, Anakin.”

“I won’t leave.” Anakin sucks in heaving breaths and lets out loud, cavernous sobs. So that was what beat against the thin walls Anakin built around himself— a waterfall of emotional unrest. In a corner of Obi-Wan’s mind, he’s pleased; some piece of him never thought Anakin would care so much. He never should have doubted. With the last few shreds of the Force running through him, Obi-Wan tugs on the thread between them.

“Please,” he says. “For me.”

Anakin squeezes his hand in Obi-Wan’s, lip riveted with blood. Obi-Wan want’s to lean up and bite that lip again; he wants to rip it from Anakin’s skull. Shivering, he folds himself back. A thousand pinpricks of noise prod at his mind and he vibrates, eyes rolling back and thoughts on fire. Arms slip to carry Obi-Wan and he’s cradled close to someone’s chest. Fresh stinging blood calls him in and out of wakefulness as clothing tears beneath the weight of his stretching limbs. Something wet and salty hits his face while someone makes weary, choking sounds.

Obi-Wan feels the ground beneath him and hands cupping his face. He feels a soft kiss on his forehead and arms wrapped around him tightly. The vast, terrible noise threatens the whole of him and, on that precipice, he hears one thing.

“I love you, Obi-Wan.” 

After that, there’s loss. This loss that pangs him as the warmth of someone else fades away; it burns a hole in him. But a great illness swallows all that once was and whatever might’ve been. Now, there’s just darkness and the hunger— a deep, unchanging hunger. A hunger that must’ve always been.

He crawls away under the two moons and slips, silent, into the tall grass.

**Author's Note:**

> did you like this weird piece of somethin' somethin'? maybe you would also like my [tumblr](http://avoidfilledwithcelluloid.tumblr.com/). but that's just a guess.


End file.
